


Quoth the Mountain: "Are you sure?"

by Disasternoj



Category: Celeste (Video Game)
Genre: 90 Percent based on things that actually happened, ALL OF THE HUGS, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Brief references to attempted suicide/suicidal thoughts, Canon Compliant, Companion to canon, Demons: both figurative and literal, Depression, Gen, Madeline being the incarnation of stubbornness, Madeline needs all the hugs, Panic Attacks, Psychological Horror, Second Person Present Tense, Snark, Talking to yourself: both helpful and required, Theo is the best wingman, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 16:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasternoj/pseuds/Disasternoj
Summary: Through Madeline’s eyes, the wonders and horrors of the Mountain.





	1. That’s a lot of spikes for a construction site (Forsaken City)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Chapter size starts small and rapidly escalates. Kinda like the game.
> 
> For anyone not familiar with my work, every [♫] is a link to thematic music for that section, which I highly recommend making use of. For this work, it’s mostly the actual Celeste OST.
> 
> Here we go.

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=N8OHSXvneOE#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_02_-_First_Steps)

Doubled over and panting, you take a moment to look back across the chasm, the rumbling and grinding of falling bridge pieces still echoing from the darkness below.

After a few moments, your hands stop shaking quite as much, and your breathing, while still harsh, sounds less like an asthmatic bulldog.

You’ve been here for all of ten minutes and it’s already getting ridiculous. The ridge collapsing was one thing. An entire bridge disintegrating is something else entirely.

…You swear you can still hear that old bat’s cackles drifting on the wind.

Still. There’s no turning back now. You shift the weight of your pack and turn to face the forest of frozen beams and abandoned buildings ahead.

After all…

You’re done breaking promises to yourself.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite your resolution, your first steps are hesitant. It takes you a minute to hit your stride without looking up at the looming Mountain ahead every few steps and slowing down again.

You imagine that the cold wind coming down off the peaks above carries the scent of stone and steel. Mostly, though, it just smells like cold.

As you approach the base of the abandoned city, you can start to make out some common routes previous climbers have forged through the maze of broken buildings and ice-encrusted construction equipment. The gentle fluttering of small pennants and ribbons marks reliable paths up the human addition to the foot of the Mountain, their faded red cousins warning of unstable or treacherous footing. You use those markers as a starting point, but you’re not about to trust your fate- or anything else- to outdated pieces of fabric. Or the people who put them there.

Just touching the metal of one half-buried crane as you scale your first obstacle makes buying your thick winter gloves entirely worth it. (That makes _one_ good decision in recent memory.)

As you scramble up onto the roof of the next abandoned building, you find a pathway laid out before you by the compacted snow. It’s filled in the gaps between the frozen buildings, layering and layering until there’s no telling where the structures end and the ice begins.

Looking up, you take in the vastness of the ruined cityscape, icy wind whistling through shattered windows and tugging at your hair. It’s going to be a long way up, but now that you’ve actually started doing it, the prospect of climbing this entire Mountain has lost some of its crushing weight. You know from experience that you’re inclined to push monumental tasks into the back of your head until it’s far too late- you were only able to do this through sheer force of will.

...That, and setting an alarm to go off every ten minutes until you actually got yourself out the door.

After a while spent clambering up and across the frozen remnants of the twilit city, a flickering light catches your eye. Something’s reflecting off the bend of a little tunnel in the ice. A fire, maybe?

You make your way cautiously into the narrow passageway, keeping one gloved hand on the craggy ice of the tunnel wall. When you emerge, you find yourself looking down over a frosted metal ledge into a mostly-enclosed space of ice-linked walls and steel girders. There, in the lee of a crumpled two-seater _plane_ , of all things, is a merrily crackling campfire, a bright orange tent, and a man with a very impressive beard.

You take a moment to just stare at him. There’s just… a _guy_ here, warming his hands by the fire, dark brown hair spilling over the top of his head in a fluffy wave. He’s dressed for the weather, just like you are, with his thick green plaid jacket and layered yellow scarf. He seems right at home in this tucked-away little nook, his cozy little campsite as out of place in this desolate city as a yeti in the desert.

The whistling of the cold wind is distant and muted in here, so he looks up the instant you land, crunching down into the snow below the ledge. The first words out of his mouth are, “Ho there, fellow traveller!”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but that _definitely_ wasn’t it.

As you approach, curious about this cheerful, bearded apparition, you find that he’s also a good eight inches taller than you.

_Fantastic._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Theo” seems nice. He’s pretty grounded for a guy who talks like a medieval dictionary.

You’re perfectly happy to let him do the talking, although you almost snort at him when he says he’ll “imagine a dark backstory” for you.

He really doesn’t need to _imagine_ anything.

You weren't expecting to find anybody else here. You're a bit conflicted about being proven wrong. This was meant to be something you did for _you_ , with nobody else involved... to the extent that you have any idea why you came out here at all.

…But it _is_ nice to see another human being in this lonely place.

Somehow you find yourself drawn into a legitimate conversation, which is rare these days. You suppose his openness makes him easy to talk to.

You’ll have to strongly disagree that anything you do could be inspiring, though.

When you finally excuse yourself and head back off into the ruined cityscape, you’re still giggling at his overdramatic antics. It’ll be good to see a friendly face now and again on the way up.

Once you’re just out of sight of Theo’s campfire, you stop for a moment to triple-check that you still have everything you’ll need. Blanket? Check. Granola, cheese, and dried fruit? Check. Slightly frozen water? Check. Extra willpower? Must’ve forgotten that one.

You could hardly have lost anything since the last time you checked, but convincing your brain of that is always difficult. Banishing that reoccurring uncertainty is always easier if you just focus on the task at hand… and as you resettle your pack and look up once more, you note that there’s quite a bit of city yet to come.

Your breath plumes in front of you as you snort. This is exactly what you signed up for.

By the time you drag yourself over the lip of the final stone spur, the last hints of the orange sky have given way to blackness, diluted only by absurdly clear pinpricks of starlight. You lean heavily against a standing stone, giving your aching limbs a chance to rest. As you do so, your fingers brush over regular, finely chiseled indentations in the face of the slab.

You straighten up enough to distance your face from the stone and make the carvings legible.

_This memorial dedicated to those who perished on the climb._

There was no number, no list of names, no marker of how many had died trying to do this. If you were to join that unknown company, would anyone know? Would anyone remember?

…Would anyone care?

 _Stop it._ Even if you’re exhausted, you can’t let yourself think like that anymore. You’re here to prove your strength to _yourself_ , and no one else.

Screw the superstitions. Screw anyone who thinks you can’t do this. No amount of snow, falling rocks, or “things you ain’t ready to see” is going to stop you.

…And on that note, you should probably make camp before you fall over.


	2. This is just what I look like, okay? (Old Site)

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=1rwAvUvvQzQ#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_03_-_Resurrections)

Well, this is just about the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen.

The stars are blue and eternally falling.

Half the stones in the ruins are now levitating cosmic jello.

And your reflection just escaped from a mirror and ran off into the night.

…Maybe there was something to the supernatural rumors about this place after all.

A slow current of unease flows through you as you clamber through the ruins, looking for a way around the ice-blockaded exit corridor. The structure didn’t look nearly as menacing from outside, even when you woke up next to a flickering green campfire.

The higher you climb, the more you notice the remnants of iron bars. Metal doors and cages, long since rusted away… sometimes with bones still inside them. The chill in the air has definitely gotten worse.

Eventually, you clamber up onto a wooden platform and come face-to-face with an entire skeleton. You startle, stepping back with a quiet gasp, before your mind catches up to your body. You collect yourself as best you can, given the tension still humming through your bones, and look around the stone chamber. The deceased climber rests right in front of a long-abandoned fire pit, complete with a rusted cooking pot on a stand. Another slumped figure rests in the corner by the skeleton, but the rest of the room behind you contains only a crumpled and discarded cage and a narrow, shadowed passage onward.

You turn and take a single step away from the ill-fated campsite, and a voice speaks up from directly behind you.

_“Madeline, darling, slow down.”_

Your heart leaps into your throat as you whip around to face the bodies. None of them move. Uneasily, you demand to know who just spoke, only half-expecting anything to answer.

But it does.

The voice comes again, sourceless and insincere, insisting that it’s only a “concerned observer”. You open your mouth to reply, and are abruptly cut off by the shadowed figure in the corner rising and leaping into the air in one explosive motion... and staying there. It feels as though a shockwave ripples through the room from the suddenness of the movement… and the sudden realization that you had seen them before.

Your escaped, darkened reflection hovers in the air before you, gazing calmly at you with unearthly crimson eyes.

_Is she… you?_

You didn’t realize you’d spoken aloud until the apparition replies. _“Part of You”_ , huh? But, you ask, then why… if she’s _“Part of You”_ , why does she look so _creepy?_

She looks legitimately upset for all of two seconds, before a chill pervades her expression and all the air around you. She declares that you’ll just have to deal with it, and interrupts your instinctive apology. She claims to have literally escaped from your head… and says that she’s worried about “us” and “our” sudden drive to climb the Mountain.

You still can’t really explain to yourself _why_ you’re here, much less to a creepy clone, so your insistence that you _need_ to do this rings hollow even to your own ears.

You aren’t a _mountain climber_ , she says, laughing scornfully at the very idea. You could be, you declare, a little spark of spite keeping your voice firm and steady despite the tension growing in your chest.

Her chuckling abruptly stops.

And then she starts dredging up the last things you wanted to hear- the things the little voice in the back of your head always whispers in the dark.

_Are you sure about this? Be reasonable._

_You don’t know what you’re getting into._

_You can’t handle this. Just give up now._

You’ve already seen hints that this Mountain is more than it seemed. You’ve already endured the first taste of the grueling climb that awaits. And now this… cruel copy of you wants you to throw in the towel, go home, not take the risk.

Maybe she really is _Part of You_. You find that you don’t particularly care.

You’ve always been stubborn, and now you’re mad.

All of those doubts, creeping around the dark corners of your mind, are exactly why you can’t turn back. Is she the weak _“Part of You”_ , you demand, or just the lazy part?

“Pragmatic”, she insists. Apparently, _this_ is her idea of diplomacy.

With her failure to convince you to abandon the climb, your dark reflection seems to have decided to abandon subtlety and diplomacy alike, floating slowly towards you with an increasingly menacing aura.

_“Let's go home... together.”_

The phantom’s expression shifts, detached stare morphing into a hungry, feral grin.

You immediately turn and bolt into the darkened ruins.

You’ve never seen that look in a person’s eyes before. It sets warning bells clamoring all throughout your head in an unceasing crescendo of panic. Your gut shrieks “ _Danger! DANGER!”_ as you flee, volume redoubling as you hear the heavy footfalls on your tail. They never slow- a dark echo always just behind you.

You glance back once, and never again, the red glow of her eyes in the shadows behind you seared into your mind.

_Don’t stop._

_Don’t think._

_Just **run.**_

The spike-lined stone passes by in a blur of frantic motion- sprinting, climbing walls, leaping down holes, just to stay ahead of her. Of _them_ , as you flee even faster from a growing number of shadow clones, your heart almost beating out of your chest. You barely even notice the scrapes accumulating on your hands in your headlong flight through the rough, crumbing halls of stone and decaying metal. The scattered bones of the long-dead threaten to trip you at every turn.

The one time one of them almost got close enough to touch you, you felt her presence almost blister your skin. Letting them catch you is _not_ an option.

So you let your terror fuel you, and you _run_.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stars sit motionless and silent in the distant sky, glittering coldly.

The memory of glowing crimson eyes in the darkness flashes through your mind yet again. It loops endlessly in the back of your head, making it hard to even think properly.

Focusing on the warmth of the campfire helps, and Theo is a pleasant distraction from your brooding, just like last time.

Yet even while you banter with him, your thoughts keep straying back to the dream.

The memory of the panic and the adrenaline is already fading, but your heart rate increases slightly anyway. You _did_ escape- briefly- which makes you feel slightly better about yourself, even if it wasn’t real.

(You resolutely ignore the bloody scrape across your left hand. It must’ve already been there.)

The shock of seeing a whole squadron of your evil clones matching your every step will stay with you for a while. You briefly wish you’d had the presence of mind to flip the bird back at them while they were chasing you. It would have been hilarious to see them all stop and do it to the ones behind them.

Somehow those things never occur to you while you’re dreaming. It felt so real- being hounded step for step by murderous doppelgängers through a maze of spikes and floating blocks.

Then again, it _always_ feels real. Dreams only ever seem ridiculous once you’ve escaped them.

But despite Theo’s solid, comforting presence, you still don’t feel safe.


	3. In which shouting at the elderly is more effective than being nice (Celestial Resort)

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=S4Y9_VD9sWE#Yanderella_OST%3A_Daremoinaisabaku)

A sinking feeling fills your chest as you scan the faded, yellowed notice. You were right- not only is the hotel closed, but from the evident age of the document and the state of the hallways, it’s been shuttered and decaying for years.

Well, that’s confirmation that you won’t be finding anyone else in this place, besides that second “guest” Mr. Oshiro mentioned.

At least, not anyone living.

You have a strong suspicion that confronting Oshiro with this won’t accomplish anything good. If he’s blinded himself to the state of his hotel, or (possibly) worse, he’s literally incapable of seeing it as it really is, a piece of paper won’t be much use.

Half of the time you’re not even sure how many people are in his ghostly head, anyway. The enthusiastic hotelier, the self-loathing wreck, the resentful growler, the earnest pleader, the insidious whisperer…

While you think, you work your way up to the narrow passageway you spotted on the wall above. It’s just as dusty and poorly lit as any of the others, but this one ends in a small stone room with an honest-to-god 1979 PICO-8 console. And it has power, to boot.

You can’t resist booting it up, just to see what’s on it. These things were a sizeable chunk of your childhood. As you wait, you hear distant creaking and groaning from the decaying building all around you, no longer masked by your echoing footsteps. Finally, with a little electronic beep and a three-note jingle, the display hums to life.

It’s somewhat worrying that the title screen shares its name with the Mountain, but given its location, you suppose it’s not so unusual…

The loading screen clears, and you see a red-haired sprite on the screen, idling against a backdrop of ice and snow. The environment seems oddly familiar. You swear you recognize that particular outcropping of ice, even rendered in 8-bit form.

Something about the character sprite catches your eye again as you grasp the joystick and nudge it along to the right. That’s… quite a lot of hair. And…

Hands shaking, you hold up your sleeve to the screen.

The powder blue of the sprite’s coat matches it exactly.

Cold tendrils of fear clutch at you, and you snatch your hand back from the machine in the space of half a heartbeat.

After the ruins, you’re disinclined to believe that all of this is mere coincidence. You’ve never had a “dream” like that in your life… especially not one that accurately showed you the terrain of ruins you’d never seen before.

You quickly pull the plug and flee the room before your morbid curiosity can compel you to try playing it anyway.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last entry of Oshiro’s diary is grim reading. You have the distinct feeling that whatever happened to him during his final stay in this place wasn’t pleasant. It seems like his despair threw him so deep into denial that even his ghost is still trying to pretend that everything is fine.

Trying and failing.

Your thoughts wander back to a few minutes ago, when you witnessed the crystallization of Oshiro’s doubts into the living red-black goop that’s engulfed this entire building.

…

You really wish you could say that was the first time you’ve seen someone’s inner demons physically manifest.

But last time was a dream… right?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Looking back over your shoulder, you catch a faded-looking Oshiro still watching you as you limp away through the dense-packed snow.

He’s returned to normal now, as much as a ghost with multiple personalities can ever be called “normal”. Most people go red when they get angry enough. _He_ went chalk-white and sprouted spectral flames.

That memory will haunt you for a long time. His ashen, glowing face rippling and bulging as you slowly backed away. The tang of ozone filling the air as his last shred of sanity gave way and he exploded into a terrifying caricature of some ghost-vampire-demon- _thing_.

What _is it_ with this place and red, glowing eyes? At least this time there was enough daylight left to let you see where you were going as you fled. That didn’t stop you from slicing your leg open on a jagged piece of terracotta, or from collecting a double handful of new bruises when the overhang collapsed. Fortunately, the cut was shallow enough that it didn’t slow you down, and the cold air kept the bleeding to a minimum.

Still stung like a bitch, though.

Oshiro’s rage-induced transformation and inhuman screeching as he pursued you was terrifying enough, but you just about had a heart attack when you first caught a glimpse of black and purple in the fancy standing mirror.

Only afterwards, as you trudge heavily away from the ruined hotel, do you question that she appeared in the waking world this time… and that, somehow, it doesn’t surprise you that she’s real after all.

There’s just something about this Mountain that makes it easy to believe such things can happen.

…You really need to find a place to sit down and bandage your leg.


	4. Tentacles and Chill (Golden Ridge)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I encourage you to find the Ch. 4 Blue Crystal Heart room, climb up to just under the Heart, and just leave the sounds playing as you look out at the real sky as sunset fades to night.

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=mr-SWzqNpM0&s=0&e=184#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_09_-_Golden)

You clear the snow off of a (nearly) flat patch of rock and sit, crossed legs pressing against the wind-sculpted purple stone. Your palms trace out familiar, soothing patterns on the knees of your worn plum snow pants as you gaze out into the distance.

Twilit clouds race past on the horizon- wispy mountains of dusky gold and purple in their own right. The setting sun bathes the frigid air itself in glorious hues of crimson and amber.

A single snowflake lands on the back of your hand, and you regard it with careful solemnity as it melts away. Its sacrifice will be remembered.

As you look up again, a constant dusting of small flakes begins falling, borne to you by the vagrant wind and the icy clouds above. They stick in the short, tough grass that clings to the patches of soil embedded in the cracks and crevices of the rock, all the way up here, bleaching the grass of what little color it had.

There's something tangibly ethereal about this place- peaceful and lonely in equal measure.

You imagine, briefly, that you can hear the heartbeat of the Mountain itself. A slow pulsing- deep, deep like the song of the living stone.

You can’t say how long you sat there, snowflakes brushing across your hair, feeling the silent voice of the Mountain. It helps center you again. You feel the ever-encroaching fears and doubts fade into the background, and- for a little while- you have peace.

The twilight lingers for as long as you do.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This wind is ridiculous.

Your face feels raw and frozen. The snowflakes that caressed you earlier are now a sandblaster pointed straight into your teeth, driving frost into your bones as surely as the stone around you.

The rough stone against your back is all that keeps you upright as the gust peaks, pinning your limbs against the rock and plastering your hair into a wild auburn halo against the stone.

The gale rages on and on. For a moment, the wind carries the sharp sound of tearing canvas, as one of the colorful flags planted all around rips free of its post and sails off into the gathering dusk.

You clench your fists and endure, waiting for the wind to abate. When it does, you’ll be ready.

You refuse to be stopped now.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=FMuQ11tVJnk#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_10_-_Anxiety)

Without warning, you’re thrown to the pitted steel floor of the gondola amid the shriek of tortured metal. Theo’s phone camera captures only shock and flailing limbs as you both go down, gathering new scrapes across your palms. The scent of iron fills your nostrils, so close is your face to the metal and the blood now seeping from your hands.

Errant snowflakes ghost across your face as you look up and push yourself back to your feet. Their faint chill now feels somehow threatening, as you look around for whatever stopped the gondola. You scurry from one side of the swinging platform to the other and back again, trying to focus on the mechanisms and not the unfathomable drop just beneath your feet. You feel increasingly trapped in this tiny cage of decrepit steel and open air.

This is really bad.

Theo says something, but you miss it, caught up in the steady spiral of worsening possibilities. Is it stuck forever? Is it about to fall, taking you with it? Is this _it_?

Your attention is successfully recaptured by the finality of the heavy _clunk_ that heralds the control lever breaking free of its base and falling into the darkening mists below.

Static begins to fill your ears as you stare at the lever’s empty socket. The gondola twists and rattles in the wind like a thing possessed, accelerating the tension building in your spine and knotting in your stomach. The shifting white blanket of cloud that surrounds you becomes suffocating. Darkness begins to crowd the edges of your vision.

You fall to your knees on the rough-worn metal, barely feeling the impact. You try to ignore the rising panic, hugging your arms to your chest as if that could contain the frantic pulsing of your heart.

Are you _cool_? No. _Absolutely not_. But you don’t need to burden Theo with that.

The gondola shudders again, even more violently, and your defiance falters.

No _shit_ you’re panicking. Why did you come up here? Why did you get _on_ this thing? _Who thought that could possibly be a good idea?_

Theo happens to be there to vent your sudden, frantic rage onto, and you spit that question back at him on instinct.

The guilt that assails you immediately after you lash out at him is swallowed without a ripple by the blaring darkness whirling all around you, fear and regret and doubt and anger and guilt and fear…

…

You have a sudden moment of fearful clarity, set to the biting wind and the shrieking of steel.

You’re going to die.

The gondola is going to break. Fall. Crash. And kill you. Scatter you across the rocks, so much red paste against the uncaring stone.

And Theo is going to die with you.

You’re both going to die, and it’s all your fault.

Theo isn’t the one who dragged you up here to get away from yourself, unprepared, and with no plan. He wouldn’t be on this deathtrap if it wasn’t for you. The one real, unspoiled connection you’ve made in years, and all it will do is drag him down with you.

You run from that thought. You retreat into yourself, wishing desperately to be somewhere else, anywhere else, than here in this moment. You run, and the oppressive weight of panic crashes back down with redoubled force. Every limb feels anchored to the ground and yet unsteady, stone-heavy and still floating.

Roaring static fills your ears. You feel the tendrils of some dark creature reaching up all around you, ready to pull you down, down, down, into the darkness.

You can’t think.

You can’t breathe.

You feel nothing but the jerky, unsteady motion of deadweight in the wind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the inescapable drop all around you, and crush your arms too tightly around yourself. You are blank, a buzzing, empty screen.

Dimly, distantly, rising just above the roaring in your ears, you hear Theo saying something. Again.

A… a feather? Why? Your ragged gasps can’t bring in enough air, you can’t think, you don’t understand…

Picture a feather.

Floating gently downwards against a snow-speckled void.

You shudder violently, trying desperately to breathe, to focus. Keep the feather floating.

 _Inhale_. It’s stuttering, weak, you barely get any air, you’re shaking too badly.

 _Exhale._ Try to push it longer. Focus on the feather. Breathe in again.

Smoother, deeper, supporting the feather, not shredding it.

 _Out._ The air catches in your throat. Try again.

The feather is what matters.

_In and out._

Keep it aloft.

**_Breathe._ **

Slower, steadier.

Keep the feather floating.

**_Breathe._ **

Your pounding heart begins to slow.

_Breathe._

The numbness diminishes, ever so slightly.

_Breathe._

The sound of the rushing wind comes back to you.

_Breathe._

You feel the iron bands around your ribs slacken just a little.

Breathe.

Your arms drop into your lap, and suddenly you’re no longer constricted.

Breathe.

A hand is tracing circles across your upper back. Another pattern to ground you.

Breathe.

You realize, with a start, that the noise in your head has faded to a quiet hum, the terror no longer deafening.

Breathe.

Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, the terror ebbs away. You come back to yourself again. You feel your limbs respond, hear Theo breathing in time with you.

Breathe.

You breathe, and the chill air fills you, and your brain restarts. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to see, you just want to keep Theo’s securing arm wrapped around you. You might feel trapped, if he had hemmed you in from all sides, but one arm is perfect. You appreciate that, distantly.

Another _clunk_ and a sudden motion make you tense up against him, scrunching your eyes shut in expectation. Then you realize that the gondola is _moving_ again, not falling, not just swinging in the wind. The terrifying, nauseating swooping and rattling ceases, and the far edge of the chasm slowly fades into view through the parting curtains of cloud. White clouds, tinged with the fading sunset, but bright, still. When did they stop being black? When did you open your eyes?

Doesn’t matter.

After one last eternity, focusing on the rhythm of your breath and watching the stone platform draw slowly, slowly closer, you finally make it back onto wonderful, blessed solid ground.

Shakily, you sit down on the snow-dusted stone, swearing then and there that you’ll never ride a gondola again. You can’t even bring yourself to be upset with Theo for projecting that false confidence that everything would be ok, since that’s exactly what you needed.

Somehow, the sight of that ridiculous selfie breaks through the last of the ice that had crept through your veins, and it abruptly feels like everything might turn out all right after all.

You should bake Theo about a thousand pies once you’re off this Mountain.


	5. In which things become especially fucked up (Mirror Temple)

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=bXfHKEaDg4s#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_12_-_In_the_Mirror)

Mirrors.

Why did it have to be mirrors?

As you stand there, Theo’s abandoned phone in hand, and gaze at the broken mirror, you can’t help but question again what you’re even doing here.

The shattered girl in the mirror. Who is she? Who’s looking at you?

You need to move, to find Theo, but you’re rooted in place, staring.

You were barely holding it together with his help. He grounded you, just by being there and warm and open in spite of everything the Mountain threw at you. Even before the gondola, just talking to him, or even just listening to him ramble, helped reign in your anxieties. Now, your last pillar of stability has vanished, in danger, and you see the tears that threaten to overwhelm you multiplied a hundredfold in the splintered glass.

And it’s your fault.

You could have stopped him, tried harder, paid attention, done _something_. But you didn’t.

So it’s your fault. Your fault.

_Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault_

You’re frozen, all motion drained from your limbs as you feel yourself sinking further and further into the depths of your handmade despair.

You never had any idea what’s going on here. You never knew what you were doing.

It’s too much. You fold in on yourself, seeking a warmth that isn’t there, collapsing under the weight of your mistakes and your dread. Theo’s phone creaks in your grip as you huddle on the ground, locked in place by the worsening visions of a future where Theo vanishes and you go back to your tired, angry, meaningless cycle.

You’re worthless. Your best is never good enough. There’s no point even trying.

You almost give up, then and there.

The only thing that holds you back is the guilt that rocks you at even the thought of abandoning Theo to whatever fate you doomed him to… and lingering stubbornness.

One of you, at least, doesn’t deserve this.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You feel the fear drowning you, bubbling up in your lungs and choking off conscious thought. Distantly, you force your aching legs to keep moving, but you barely feel the impacts. You don’t even feel in control of your own body, fleeing automatically as your mind hides itself away.

You hear them growling, screeching, slamming their grotesque bodies into the rotted stone.

Always just behind you. Always hungry.

You feel them circling, their blighted presence as tangible as the thunder of your pulse, the prickling of hidden eyes upon you, the whispers in the darkling stone.

If you stop moving, they’ll find you.

If you stop moving, you’re _dead_.

_If you stop moving, they’ll tear you to shreds._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your darkened double floats leisurely above you, her gaze scornful and utterly merciless.

For a single moment, you swallow your pride… and let the mask drop.

And you beg her.

You hate how so, so small your voice comes out, your fear obvious in its tremors.

You beg her to help you. To save you from this nightmare of your own creation.

But she refuses.

And then she shouts at you the one thing you were most afraid to hear. The words that whisper out of the dark in the blackest hours of the night.

_You deserve this._

It takes everything you have in you to slam your shields back into place, and call upon that old, familiar anger for the strength you need.

 **“SHUT _UP!”_** you scream at her- your cruel, evil-eyed doppelgänger.

As she retreats into the darkness, that hateful chuckle dripping from her lips like poisoned wine, you do your best to drive the point home.

 ** _“I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!”_** The words tear themselves from your throat, their defiance your only support against the black dread magnified from your heart onto everything around you.

“I’ll do this alone.”

…

You can only hope, with everything you have, that you really can.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Theo present, you can finally muster enough courage to not _immediately_ run away from the eyeball demons. You can wait until a path to the next room is clear.

His presence and encouragement calm your heartrate down to merely concerning, rather than literal palpitations.

…But damn, Theo’s heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: [Who’s looking at me?](https://youtu.be/rE8diav5I1k)


	6. In which introspection reveals that violence is the answer OR Stop shooting lasers and let me love you (Reflection)

[[♫]](http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=__oZ-LYZ8pU#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_13_-_Madeline_and_Theo)

You’re relieved that Theo’s finally awake again. You couldn’t help but worry about him, as you sat by the fire and watched the chill glimmer of the stars. He’s always so… vibrant. It felt wrong to see him unconscious and battered, as if beaten into silence by those manifested nightmares.

Of course, now that he’s woken up, you have to explain- so much as you can- just what all that was about.

You suppose it was past time you told Theo everything. After all of… _that_ , having a demonic doppelgänger doesn’t sound so impossible anymore… and you owe him an explanation. If you had told him before- if you hadn’t been too afraid of his reaction- maybe neither of you would have had to go through that.

Plus, having a friend who knows the truth (and went through it with you) might help you stabilize.

Constant existential terror tends to wear on a girl after a while.

You were especially vulnerable to the Temple after how violated she’s made you feel, baring the worst of you to the world. Theo helped, though. By trusting you to get _him_ out of there, too, he gave you the chance to be someone he can rely on.

You envy how easily he trusts. You have a hard time putting your faith in anyone. How can you, when you can’t even have faith in yourself? Not that you’re complaining about Theo. You’re convinced that you wouldn’t have made it out of there without his support.

You fail to contain yourself when he admits that it’s all because you remind him of his sister. It’s just too cute. You didn’t really peg Theo as the Big Softie Older Brother type, but you suppose he’s been doing that with you, too, to an extent.

…Which makes sense, now that you know why. It sounds like he’s been rooting for his sister for a long time- and apparently, he sees something of her “amazing” spark in you, too.

Once again, though, you have to disagree that there’s anything _amazing_ about you. Especially your internal compass. You’re good at keeping up appearances, but in truth, you’re barely holding it together. You seized on the Mountain as a last resort to escape the endless loop of your thoughts, the constant cycling between denial and sick despair, only to have them given a body that delights in your suffering.

Apparently, you’re not the only person that wanted out of your head.

The cheerfully burning logs shift as one collapses, sending a flurry of glowing sparks up to join the stars. The motion provides you with a distraction, an excuse to look away as you think about Theo’s latest attempt to compare you to his sister.

He’s hit the nail squarely on its bright red head. You _don’t_ even know why you’re so set on making it to the summit. There’s no logical reason for it. What more can you accomplish by staying in this place?

Haven’t you been through enough?

The only things stopping you from turning tail and heading back down the mountain are sheer stubbornness… and a nagging sense that you’re on the brink of understanding something important.

But if your tenuous grip on sanity gives out before that, it might not even matter.

Theo being Theo, he immediately asks if he can help somehow. He’s sweet like that. And so you tell him the truth: He already _is_ helping.

At first, he was just a friendly stranger. He was safe to vent to, since you’d most likely never see him again. Then, he was a friend. He was the soft sun after the storm of your nightmares, who told you stories, who laughed with you, who grounded you when the maw of your fears tried to swallow you whole.

And now? The two of you share something special.

You’re not about to jump into his arms- not unless you need to leap across a bottomless pit, or something- but what you’ve been through together is something nobody else could understand.

Not that you’d ever say any of that out loud. The most you’ll admit to is that it helps just to finally _say_ some of this stuff out loud, and not fear being judged for it. Until now, you could never bring yourself to tell anyone the whole story. Mom’s the only one who really knows anything about what you’re going through, and just the bare minimum at that.

Who needs a therapist? You have vodka. And shouting at people that are wrong on the Internet.

You scoot a little closer to the fire, savoring the warmth as you listen to Theo tell his story.

You always knew that Theo had to have his reasons for being here, too. You just didn’t expect them to revolve around finding a purpose for himself- or at least a job that he can stand doing every day. On the surface, Theo looks more like a calm, competent adult than you ever have. He always seems so laid back and put-together- it’s hard to imagine him struggling at anything.

Then again, your problems have always been of your own making. It stands to reason that won’t be true for everyone. At least you’ve had a solid job to keep you afloat through all this.

You can relate to feeling directionless, though. It’s not like _you_ really know what you’re doing with your life either. You suspect that he’s trying to compensate with his photography blog and the approval of the masses- and that it’s backfiring a little, given all those judging eyeballs in the Temple. _You’ve_ never been able to rely on anyone else for approval, much less yourself.

You’re a little taken aback when Theo asks what depression feels like. Before, he’d always seemed content to avoid prying any further than what you’ve managed to express.

It makes a lot more sense that it’s for his sister, even though you’re honestly shocked that someone Theo lauded as “a literal rockstar" and “amazing at everything” could suffer from one of the same problems as _you_.

It’s hard to describe the sense of utter, crushing futility that depression envelops you in. You try anyway, for Alex’s sake, but ocean metaphors are the best you can come up with. It works well enough, but words can only describe so much of how _pointless_ everything feels. How nothing seems worth trying because there’s no way _you’ll_ pull it off. How _tired_ you are, _all_ the _time_ , all your energy drained away into that endless whirlpool of doubt and negativity.

It really has to be experienced to be understood… and so, in a way, you don’t _want_ more people to understand.

You’d like to go on an adventure with Alex someday.

Maybe you can compare notes on being less shitty people.

You came up here to try and find something to pull yourself out of that abyss… or maybe just to get away from yourself. But you can’t escape yourself. You’ve been literally _fighting yourself_ the whole way. It’s exhausting.

It does help, though, to remember that you being here hasn’t been for nothing. Even if it was your fault that he was dragged into your personal hellscape, you helped save him from his _own_ demons.

“You’re a good person,” he says. And you don’t doubt that he believes that- it warms some hidden part of you to hear it- but are you really? Or are you just… pretending? Does it _count_ if it’s all deliberate, if you’re just trying to prove it to _yourself_?

Despite that, Theo has a point. Even if it was your last resort, climbing the Mountain was a choice that you made for your own sake. And you’ve done _some_ good- for yourself, and for Theo- just by being here.

Then he has to go and suggest that you’re stuck with _her_ forever. And just like that, he’s gone from being helpful to _not at all_.

Maybe he’s right- maybe destroying her will damage _you_ too, but you can’t see any way out of this without taking her out of your picture permanently. You’re not going to give up when you’re this close, but she may not give you a choice.

Theo has quite a few “pearls of wisdom” from his Grandpa. It seems like they’re pretty close.

…Oh.

That’s why he’s so attached to photography and his Grandpa’s advice. It’s all he has left of him.

You’ve always been terrible at condolences, so you stick with the simple truth. You _are_ sorry.

If his Grandpa climbed this Mountain too, does that mean he went through all of this?

…There were probably fewer demons involved. You’re just a _bit_ more messed up than most people. Probably always have been. Most people wouldn’t choose to climb a spooky Mountain for a change of pace.

You needed a challenge you could actually overcome. Something that didn’t feel as insurmountable as trying to sit down and get your shit together all at once.

You may have bitten off more than you can chew, but by _god_ you’re not beaten yet.

Even so, it takes just about all the courage you have to willingly ask Theo to take a picture with you. Even if you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you.

(He’d just smirk a little.)

Despite the chill breeze that swirls around your little campsite, you find a little moment of warmth and contentment.

You’ve always found it difficult to come straight out and say “thanks” to anyone, but you manage it for Theo.

…After all, he _is_ pretty cool.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[[♫] ](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=qJXKBLeXK9c#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_B-Sides_-_06_-_Jukio_Kallio_-_Reflection_\(Center_of_the_Earth_Mix\))

You’re dreaming again. You must be.

Flying, soaring, up into the air above even the summit, borne on wings of golden light. You leave your uncertainties and your fear behind in the wind that rushes past your face.

It’s transcendent.

But even so, you know what must be done.

You know exactly what _part of you_ she is.

The cruel part. The merciless part. The part that clings to any control it can grasp.

The part that always whispers, “No, you _can’t_.”

The part that hates itself, and so hates everything else too, and lashes out at everything and everyone.

The part that lives in fear.

The part that you strive to suppress every single day.

And fail.

Did she… did _you_ manifest those floating demons, too? Did they hunt you and hurt you as you believe you deserve to be hunted and hurt?

…

You close your eyes and call her forth.

And, for just a moment, she doesn’t seem so hateful.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You fall.

You fall, and you watch all your efforts unravel.

You fall, and the cautious, budding hope you had foolishly nurtured withers and falls with you.

The rush of air all around you drowns out your silent scream as you plummet past sheer cliffs and broken rock.

You were wrong. So, so wrong.

It was all for nothing.

This is the end.

…

_I’m sorry, Theo._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The icy shock of mountain water drags you instantly back to consciousness.

It takes you a moment to realize you’re still alive. Of course, that thought comes with a very pressing need for air.

You kick frantically, aching legs propelling you up towards the shimmering surface of the water. For a moment, as you struggle upwards with burning lungs and frozen limbs, you think you might not make it.

Then your head bursts through the surface, and you gasp for the life-giving air you were so abruptly denied. Treading water, coughing and spluttering still on the water you accidentally inhaled, you sweep aside the curtain of drenched red hair from your face to see a surprisingly verdant cavern. A forest of crystals and greenery, small waterfalls cascading down from the rocks overhead in near-silence.

Glancing upwards, you can distantly make out the looming bulk of the Mountain above. So much of it, in fact, that you can’t be anywhere but all the way back down at its base.

Your heart sinks past your feet and down to the bottom of the rocky lake below.

Mechanically, you swim your way over to shore, kicking with wooden legs and paddling with unfeeling hands, until you finally reach the shore and drag yourself out of the water, flopping spread-eagled onto your back.

Slowly, sensation comes back to you.

Everything hurts, and you’re completely drenched…

But you’re alive.

For an instant and an eternity, you lay on the craggy grass, wet and despairing.…

But you’re alive.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s over.

You stand before a giant shard of broken crystal, staring back at yourself in its mirrored surface, and pour out your emotions at the silent stone.

You were _so close_ , and she had to drag you down with her.

Your shadow. The very literal _demon_ you can’t shake no matter what you try.

You **_hate_** her.

…But she was right. In some sick, twisted way, she was right because she _made_ it so. You couldn’t climb the Mountain, because she’s as much the Mountain as the rocks you scaled.

And she’s also Part of You. And for all that you’ve tried, you clearly can’t destroy yourself.

So what now?

You think on that as you traverse the crystal-studded caverns, seeking a way out, any kind of light at the end of the tunnel. You’re distantly aware of the oddly ethereal beauty of this place, with the faint, sharp gleam of the crystals, the gentle cascade of the water, and the springiness of the moss beneath your feet. Taking in the surroundings is a useful distraction, but you still have too much time to think.

Your thoughts circle endlessly, going nowhere.

Hopelessness. _You’re done. You’ll never make it now- not back up the Mountain, and not in your sad excuse for a life._

Anger. _Why couldn’t you do this one thing? Why can she not just leave you alone?!?_

Searching. _There has to be a way. A way where she’s not always an obstacle in your path…_

You’re stuck in a cycle yet again, and it drains away your determination until all that’s left is an overwhelming tiredness.

Despite how much the idea hurts, you’re just about ready to give up when you see that damn bird again, perching on a rock like it owns the place. And where it goes…

Yup. There she is. Dammit. Of _course_ Granny’s here, waiting in the dead center of the most picturesque cavern yet. The old lady stands, leaning on her stick, in the midst of soft grasses and colorful fungus, somehow belonging there as much as the tiny wooden elevator and the silent curtain waterfall that share the space with her.

You’re really not in the mood for more of her weird, half-encouraging ruminations about conceding defeat gracefully. It seriously pisses you off.

The more you talk to her, though, the more you realize that she’s actually trying to help. She must have seen other people go through something like this before.

And she might have a point. Maybe you _have_ been too angry at yourself to consider any reason for everything your shadow has done besides blind cruelty. This is the first time you’ve really listened to the old lady… and you think it’s what you needed to hear.

As Granny recedes into the distance behind you, you muster up all your resolve.

Theo was right.

If you’re going to do this, it can’t be by cutting parts of yourself away.

It has to be by overcoming yourself. By accepting yourself.

By becoming whole.

The Mountain clearly can’t be conquered by anyone who hasn’t first conquered themselves. And you can’t master only half of yourself. You know that now.

She’s more than the parts of you that you hate.

She’s also pragmatic, sharp, insightful… many of the things that helped you get to where you were, before your life fell apart.

You take a moment to breathe, feeling the flow of the cool cavern air and the steady rhythm of your heart.

Maybe, if you just _talk_ to her, you can work this out.

Maybe, with her help, you can put your pieces back together.

You face the looming darkness at the back of the cavern and square your shoulders.

…

This isn’t over yet.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shadows retreat before you. For every step into the depths of these caves, for every leap you make and every plunge you take, the squirming darkness falls back to match. It’s as if it wants to menace you still… but can’t.

It’s strange. You see the grasping tendrils of shadow and expect to be buried by the fear and the anxiety that has always come with them on this Mountain… but nothing happens. You feel disconnected and determined at the same time.

You’re set on this path, sure at last that you’ve found the answer, for all that it doesn’t feel real. The darkness _leads_ you now, instead of confounding you.

It’s not that you’ve stopped being afraid. You want nothing more than to turn and flee, to not have to think about this, to do _anything_ but face her head-on.

But you refuse to let that fear control you any longer.

If you can’t leave your fear behind, you’ll just have to work with her instead.

You find her slumped on the ground, as if asleep- just like your first meeting. The shadows’ menace now faded, they curl defensively around her, shifting subtly to shield her with every step you take.

When she speaks, the false hesitance from before is gone, but so is the malice. She seems… hurt.

And she has every right to be.

You’ve both spent far too long fighting.

It’s time for you… _all_ of you… to face the light.

And so, armed with your most determined smile, you take her ominous declaration from your very first meeting, and make it your own.

 “Let’s climb out of here… _together._ ”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You crash to the ground… and spring back up, ignoring the throbbing in your knee and the sting of your close shaves with her lasers. Dodging, leaping, diving, always reaching out.

Every time you make contact with her, she looks a little less demonic and a little more desperate, flinching away as if your very presence now burns _her_.

Granny was right. She _is_ just scared. It was all just a front- a façade given enormous power by the Mountain.

You power through her tirade and the bright pain of the crystal shards piercing your side. Just like her cloak of darkness, her words no longer have power over you… but this time, you actually _listen_ to what she’s saying.

_“I’m just trying to help you!”_

She _did_ want to help. To help you prepare for the worst, by inflicting it upon you.

The same way that a nightmare helps.

You pursue her through halls of jagged crystal and collapsing stone, pushing off the rocks she levitates to dodge spheres of dark energy. Behind you, you hear them vaporizing parts of the walls and floor unlucky enough to be in their way.

She pauses again to shout at you, giving you a moment to breathe.

**_“_ ** **None of this would have _happened_ if you had _listened to me!”_**

It’s true. In fact, if you were capable of listening, you might not have needed to come here at all. But then _none_ of it would have happened. You’d never have really _met_ Theo- or even encountered him in the first place. You’d never have found the help you needed to ask the right questions.

You’d still be drowning with no land in sight.

Now, at last, you can see the shore.

You just have to help her see it too.

By body-slamming her repeatedly, if you must.

As she retreats for the umpteenth time, shattering crystal and splintering solid stone through sheer presence alone, something in the air changes. Despite the enclosing, rushing blackness, an electric stillness pervades the rough-cut stone passageway as you cautiously advance through it.

When you clamber over the last of the uneven stone blocks, the shrouding tendrils of darkness vanish entirely, and you find her slumped on the ground just as before, hair and tentacles still defying gravity and sparking with vibrant purple energy.

[[♫]](https://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=oHdSK43cIf8#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_17_-_Little_Goth)

A little voice inside you still cheers in triumph when she admits defeat, but you silence it as thoroughly as you can. This isn’t about that part of you.

You don’t want her to leave. You do still need her- now, more than ever.

The flash of vulnerability you saw from her last night comes back… and this time it stays.

And so you trust your instincts, coming down onto one knee to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder, and you share with her the truth that you’ve finally accepted:

“It’s okay to be scared.”

As if in shock, her hair abruptly falls down across her back, once again acknowledging gravity, and the crackling light in its strands winks out. At the same time, the tentacles that lent her such a demonic visage withdraw, vanishing into nothingness. Her shoulder is motionless, but her entire demeanor broadcasts the idea of a flinch.

The rushing blackness fades from the caverns, taking with it the suffocating dark and the noise you hadn’t realized it was making until it stopped. The soft songs of the grass, the wind, and the water return, filling the chamber with light and life once more.

She shifts, breaking free of her huddle of purple hair and fluffy coat, and turns her head to stare at you.

She looks at you like she can’t fathom your existence, as if you’re something bright and strange that doesn’t seem real. In her otherworldly crimson eyes, you see a faint glimmer of hope.

You wordlessly open your arms to her.

For a moment, she looks unbearably uncertain. Her face scrunches up like she’s seconds away from tears, lips twisting as if choking on a thousand things she wants to say. You stay motionless, afraid she’ll bolt off into the last shadows of night and vanish if you so much as twitch.

And then she shifts, turning her whole body towards you and into your arms. You can’t help the soft smile that comes to your battered face, and you pull her into a gentle embrace.

You haven’t been hugged in a long time.

You honestly weren’t expecting her to be this solid, this warm. You breathe, feeling your arms wrapped around her shoulders and hers around your ribs, and you are free.

For a few moments, the two of you just stay there, taking refuge in being held by someone who understands.

You needed this. Both of you did.

Then a glimmer of light becomes a vibrant white glow, and she’s gone.

Your arms close on the space she had just occupied, filled now only by brilliant, formless light. Balance lost, you stumble backwards as the light splinters into a swarm of radiant spheres.

You stare, transfixed, at the orbs of light that now dart and circle around you, blinding after the dim ambiance of the cavern. Even just looking at them, you feel almost… peaceful.

As one, the orbs converge on you and meld into your chest before you can even react… and you feel _warm_.

The warmth flows out from your core and races though each limb, erasing your fatigue, and as it does so, the burns, scrapes, and cuts you sustained in the chase abruptly stop bothering you. Lifting your hand, you see the last moments of a fading glow, leaving behind unmarred skin.

Pink flower petals fall from nowhere and blanket the air around you, despite being deep underground. Their soft sweetness permeates the cool air of the cave.

A floating strand of hair falls across your arm.

It’s bright pink.

…

_…well then._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Only moments later, you stand back in the upper reaches of the crystal caverns, soft predawn light diffusing through the gaps in the rocky ceiling.

To your left, Granny, with her knowing, wrinkly smile.

To your right, Theo, with his irrepressible cheer and yet another thumbs-up.

And floating softly before you, your other half, expression anxious, and yet as determined as you’ve ever seen her.

With all of them solidly in your corner now, you can really do this.

You drop your bag, stretching your spine and rolling your neck, and look up at the cloud-shrouded peak through the breaks in the ceiling.

_This won’t take long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Forgive me if I have described some aspect of depression, panic attacks, or demons inaccurately. I intend no offense to anyone suffering from these conditions.


	7. DJ Déjà Vu and the Power of Saying Words OR In which talking to yourself makes you more sane, rather than less (The Summit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m operating on the headcanon that the “things that happened forever ago” and that “don’t even matter” that Madeline mentions to Theo in Ch. 6 canon have something to do with the person on the phone in the Ch. 2 dream (an ex, possibly?), and the “bad people” Badeline refers to in Ch. 7 canon. It seems like a very specific criticism to make if it was only referring to Oshiro. Also, I’ve arbitrarily decided that “forever ago” means three years ago. Fight me.

[[♫]](http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=iDVM9KED46Q#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_18_-_Reach_for_the_Summit)

It’s strange, at first. Climbing with her, not in spite of her.

The advantages are certainly obvious, though. Physics is no match for the power of the Mountain- and now it’s on your side. You’re ascending at frankly ridiculous speeds.

Even when she’s part of you again, you can feel her watching you. But… thoughtfully. There’s no judgement in her gaze anymore. Defensiveness, yes- both of herself and of you- but that’s who she is. In a way, Theo was right yet again (just like everyone else on this rock). She protects you- from others, and from yourself- by identifying threats, and planning to counter them. She looks out for you when you push yourself too hard or too recklessly. She’s your voice of caution. But you tried to silence that voice for so long that she became something else entirely. When you aren’t heard or acknowledged, you get louder and louder, until _something_ has to give. And when the Mountain gave her its power…

Well.

It got pretty loud.

You take the opportunities to really _talk_ to her as they come. Every time you do, you get a little more insight into how she thinks, and why she acted the way she did.

You try your best to reassure her when she seems nervous. Even though you feel like you sound insincere and unoriginal, she seems to appreciate it.

You suppose anything is a step up.

Even so, you’re surprised when she offers you an unsolicited compliment. Maybe the euphoria of the climb is rubbing off on her.

You can’t resist teasing her a little for it, though. It’s only fair, after everything.

As the two and one of you make your way up the Mountain once more, you pass through a montage of the journey you already made once, lit this time in the warm orange tones of the slowly brightening sky. The crystal forest. The failed and frozen city. The ruins of dream-fuckery. The crumbling last resort.

…Speaking of.

You really do hope Mr. Oshiro gets himself together.

She was right, in a sense. She certainly didn’t go about it in the best way, but directness has its own virtues. You certainly weren’t getting anywhere trying to step carefully around his feelings.

Maybe you do spend a lot of effort on people. Sometimes that doesn’t pan out.

Even so, it hurt to hear her say it like that.

Especially after what happened three years ago.

(You’re not sure what it says about you that you still try so hard when you’re in the middle of all this Mountain bullshit. You hope it’s not just that you’re trying to convince yourself you’re a good person. Theo seems to think that you’re good, anyway, and you trust his analysis more than yours at this point.)

It’s easier than you expected to not snap back at her, now that you _get_ her a little more. Maybe most of your anger was tied up in her, and cooled off when she did.

Probably, somewhere deep in both of you, you’re just tired of fighting.

Eventually you have to choose between scaling a cliff that’s impossibly sheer, even for the two of you, and passing through part of the Temple again.

You’ve already faced down your fears in the belly of the Mountain. This is nothing.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Even if you’re pretty sure the Temple isn’t going to try anything this time, you’re not staying one second longer than you have to.

You glare resolutely at one of the creepy eyeball statues as you catch your breath. It stares stonily right back.

You flip it the bird and leap for the next handhold.

You swear you can hear her giggling in the back of your mind.

Once you’ve left the Temple a comfortable distance behind, you stop to rest on a broad, windswept ledge. The two of you separate, taking a minute to breathe and appreciate the view of the dimly-lit valley in the last moments before dawn, clouds scudding past in soft, colorless blankets. You seize the opportunity to finally ask her something that’s been on your mind since you two made up. (You think you can be excused for not considering it earlier, given the circumstances.)

What was it like to be her? To be… “brought out” of someone?

It takes her a minute to answer, so you end up just watching her while she thinks. She really does look like a goth version of you, with pale grey skin, strikingly inhuman red eyes, and your hairstyle writ in several shades of violet and a general irreverence for gravity. She even has the same clothes- although her copy of your puffy winter jacket is, naturally, a soft purple color.

A few times, she opens her mouth as if to speak, before going back to her ruminations, and…

_Oh my god she has tiny little fangs._

Even after the two of you spend a moment contemplating (or composing yourself again), in the end she doesn’t have all that much to say about it. The first thing she “remembers” as a separate person was escaping the mirror in the ruins.

She won’t- or can’t- talk about her powers, but she does admit to spending the time between her escape from the mirror and your first conversation just running around and enjoying having a body.

She actually blushes, admitting that.

It’s kind of cute.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rocks are slippery and the fog is obscuring, but you’re almost there.

Every so often, you catch a glimpse of the peak through the gaps in the crags and the clouds. It’s almost worse, now that you can physically see it. Even as the first rays of the morning sun peek over the horizon, painting the sky with pink and gold, it still looks so far away. The thin, frigid air burns in your lungs, and the lack of oxygen slows your limbs.

But for all the crystal spikes and sheer cliffs the Mountain puts in your way, the wind and the will to win are with you this time. Whenever it looks like too much to handle, she’s there to help. Being able to trust her to lift you up instead of pushing you down… it fills you with determination.

None of this will stand in your way for long.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The panorama of the valley spreads out before you, bathed in the rosy light of the rising sun. The only clouds still in sight hang motionless below you, approvingly pink against the muted earthen tones of the rock below. The faded and tattered red pennant flutters gently in the corner of your vision, its motion only solidifying the stillness and silence.

You actually did it.

Looking at how far the Mountain cascades down beneath you, it’s hard to believe you made it all the way up here, even with the freshly-minted memories to testify.

The chill and the thin air catch up to you, now that you’ve finally stopped moving, and you savor the crunch of the pristine snow as you sit down and gaze out at the sunrise.

She stays at your side, hovering just above the ground, as you take in the beauty of the vista below. Eventually, she speaks up again, grateful that she could see this while she still had a body of her own. It reminds you that you can’t stay forever, and neither can she.

You’re surprised at how much the idea of her vanishing distresses you, after you spent so long trying to accomplish just that. Have you come to rely on her physical presence that much in just the time it took to get back up here? It’s certainly grounding to be able to talk out your worries and your feelings with someone who knows _exactly_ what you’ve been through.

She _will_ still be there, though. You’re just going to have to learn to hear her, even when she no longer has a voice. Your problems will get a lot smaller if you can finally trust all of yourself to know what you’re doing. To acknowledge and comfort your fears, instead of locking them away.

Hearing her put her trust in you, here and now, makes that easier.

For right now, though, you think it’s okay to sit and enjoy this.

You’ve earned it. Together.


	8. Down to Earth (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Not doing a Core chapter. There’s not really any story there. As far as I’m concerned, the story ends with pie.

[[♫]](http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=q7QMTo-P6H0#%5BOfficial%5D_Celeste_Original_Soundtrack_-_19_-_Exhale)

The descent offers you ample time to talk. And talk you do.

Sometimes it takes a while to wrap your head around the things she says- or to admit to yourself that you already knew what she meant. You’re not magically whole again, but you feel like you finally understand a lot of things about yourself. Impulses and anxieties you’ve had for years or hours become just a little bit clearer, a little more manageable.

Often, hearing her viewpoint on something that happened a while back is both educational _and_ entertaining. She sees things in a different light, a light that would have shown you the answers to some of your problems long ago… and also highlights how utterly ridiculous some of the people you know really are.

It’s also comforting to know that it’s not too soon to joke about all of this. When you were throwing around ideas for a distinct name of her own, she could barely keep a straight face when you suggested “Badeline”. You suppose it appeals to your shared sense of irony.

With your powers combined, you can probably achieve unreached heights of sass.

As you descend, you take a moment now and then to get some pictures of the two of you together. Even if it’s not a smartphone, your phone camera can still catch a couple of moments you want to hang onto.

Her, looking bashfully away from the camera.

Both of you, as you introduce her to the joys of cloud-hopping.

You, dumbfounded as she clones herself and whirls around you in a swirl of purple hair and cheeky grins. (She stole your phone for that one. Rude.)

Even if she laughs at you a little for needing to rest now and then, you feel light as a feather by the time you arrive back at that rickety old bridge. Her genuine smile puts a spring in both of your steps.

You’ve finally made peace with yourself, and it was worth everything you went through to get here.

When you open the door to the old lady’s little house, you find her already waiting there with Theo. Both of them look so happy to see you back that you barely avoid turning bright pink.

(Well. Your face, at least. You can’t do much about the hair.)

When you tell them that you really made it, Theo looks so proud of you he might burst. You don’t even try to keep the silly grin off of your face.

Alex is lucky to have her Big Brother.

You- well, _one_ part of you- knew all along that it would be worth it if you could pull it off. You’ll never forget the view from atop the Mountain… and you’ll never regret coming here.

You do have one last surprise for both of them, though. You catch their attention and reach both arms into your overstuffed backpack to retrieve your haul.

The looks on their faces when they see the bushels of strawberries are priceless.

While you’re baking, Granny’s bird returns, alighting on a little carved wooden perch in the corner that seems to have been designed for it.

You were always suspicious of that bird. It was always hanging around, watching. At this point, you’re convinced it’s part of the Mountain in its own right.

You give it your best “I’m watching you” look. (You can’t point at it; your hands are full of strawberries.) Despite the limitations of having a bird face, it somehow manages to look smug as it stares right back at you.

_Hmph._

As you’re putting the pie into the oven, you catch Badeline sneaking leftover strawberries with her hair, and looking very pleased with herself.

…that’s still a little weird. Tentacle hair.

…could be worse.

While you wait for the pie to bake, you relax in the warm and cozy atmosphere of Granny’s cabin. Just like any old person’s house, it somehow has exactly enough worn, squashy chairs for everyone… except for Granny, who has one of those overhyped gamer chairs. For some reason.

You chatter idly with your new friends, exchanging little stories and re-enactments as the fire crackles merrily and the scent of cooking strawberries suffuses the air. Your emo half mostly keeps to herself, still, but speaks up occasionally to snark at someone.

It’s nice.

To finally be able to just… sit down, and be warm, and dry, and comfortable. You never really thought about it before you came here.

Now that you’ve climbed the Mountain, though, the comfort feels welcoming.

Like you’ve _earned_ it now.

And you suppose you have.

Granny pipes up again, starting some story that Theo just reminded her of. As you look back over at her, a framed photo on the wall catches your eye. It’s a black-and-white picture of a girl with shoulder-length hair, in front of the distinct silhouette of the Mountain. It takes you a moment to realize, but looking back over at her, you think it’s a photo of the old lady back when she was your age. Weird as the thought is, she wasn’t always ancient.

When Oshiro arrives, and the pie is done, you start to second-guess yourself. You’ve never done this before- it can’t possibly turn out well.

But, as if sensing your distress, Badeline turns and holds your shoulder comfortingly as the pie cools. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t need to.

You’d never climbed a mountain before, either.

You get some last-minute inspiration and add some fancy edgings and toppings of whipped cream and ice cream (naturally, also strawberry). Granny’s approving smile makes you almost giddy, and so as the first slices are served, you ask, as confidently as you can, how it tastes.

Theo, drama queen that he is, actually puts down his plate, walks over to you, and shakes you gently by your shoulders as he proclaims it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

And apparently, the rest of them agree.

You can’t keep the smile off your face as you savor this moment that you’ve made- with your friends and your own two hands.

Theo motions everyone in for yet another selfie, so you can look back on this moment and smile again.

And for the first time in far too long…

You’re happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Ending A/N: I’m probably projecting on Madeline more than she deserves.
> 
> In a lot of ways, I really do relate to her. 
> 
> Writing Quoth the Mountain was a journey of my own. I didn’t set out to write a full-length companion fic to the game, but that’s essentially what I ended up with. The emotional content was too important to distract from with choppy sections and poorly executed ideas. The end result is that this fic was in development for over 9 months, and still seems to be one of the first fanfics for this game ever written. 0_o
> 
> Please, please leave a comment! This is my most involved and invested work yet, so I really want to see how people feel about it! Did you have a favorite part, or line, or description? Could you relate to how I expressed Madeline or Theo? Did you think something could have been handled better, and how? Would you like to see more Celeste fics from me? I always reply to every comment I get, and I can tell you for a fact that comments (including incoherent happy screaming) are what keep authors going. ^_^
> 
> Thanks as always to my betas, [Afterados](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5698514/afterados) and Vozw! Afterados in particular was critical to this fic- he helped me transform my ramblings about Madeline into a legitimate story, and took the time to throw walls of text back and forth with me about what I really wanted to write and how to make it happen, over most of a year.
> 
> I may write another little fic about Madeline and Theo’s summer reunion (see [Theo’s actual Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/TheoUnderStars/). We shall see. It will most likely depend on the response to this one.
> 
> [[A playlist of songs that made me think of Madeline and/or how she relates to the other characters]](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkI9F9wQtiZtoe63j2rbn6qRJ3VC7OwSW)
> 
> \---
> 
> “There are parts of us that can make it hard to accomplish the things we want to, but we can always choose to co-exist with them. Being honest and forgiving yourself can give you hidden strength.”
> 
> -The Yetee


End file.
